


What they do

by SelfDestructian



Series: Like temptation is a snake [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Disorder, Asgard, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blow Jobs, Bottom Loki (Marvel), Break Up, Brother Feels, Brother/Brother Incest, Brotherly Angst, Canon Divergence - Post-Thor (2011), Cliffhangers, Come Eating, Crack, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Guilty Pleasures, Homophobia, Hurt No Comfort, I never said these boys are healthy, Infantilism, Insecurity, LIKE ALL THE TIME, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Odin (Marvel)'s Good Parenting, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Psychological Drama, Sad Ending, Secrets, Self Confidence Issues, Sexual Confusion, Sexual Politics, Social Anxiety, Top Thor (Marvel), Twisted, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Weird Plot Shit, and Thanos never existed, and never WILL, be my guest, in later movements, just saying, like this is the first season, lol, no really, or God Help Me TM to find out what exactly is up with Thor in this, so many blow jobs, this goes so deep and I shouldn't even like this story after all these years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-01 13:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15143906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelfDestructian/pseuds/SelfDestructian
Summary: "I love you", Thor breathes."I hate you", Loki lies.Thor is suddenly frightened by the thought of becoming king. For the day of coronation draws nearer he desperately needs some comfort and security. Being a grown up man he's too ashamed of his fears to turn to anyone but Loki.Loki, though, seems to be a bit unsettled by what his elder brother asks of him ... not to mention that what starts out weird yet innocent quickly grows into one serious, dramatic matter throwing the princes into whirls of sins and secrets far out of both their hands....THIS IS AREMASTERED VERSIONand the first movement of a longer story.Can be easily read as complete, even without sequel.UPDATED WEEKLY.





	1. How did this happen?

[ ](https://ibb.co/j8YNWd)

 

 

 

A helpless moan escapes Loki's open mouth as his body curls around his brother's large, blond head resting in his lap. Lips wet from constant licking, he dips the tip of his tongue in nervous motions back and forth like trying to ease his breaths the way out of his tightening throat with it. But that won't help him much; Thor's at a perfect and perfectly agonizing leisure with Loki again and lies all content there while his little brother can't but twitch and squirm.

How strange they look like this, rolled up on their sides, all clothed in the crinkled bed sheets, most oddly intertwined. They could face each other if they wouldn't lie in such a constellation, yet their bodies nuzzle not eye to eye into one another but where Loki's knees press hard into Thor's chest and where …

And where it slurps and _gulps_ and -

Another shock of dizziness makes Loki's whole body pulse with heat, forcing him to gasp and whimper out like in pain. But he manages to not move his hips, not much at least.

Absently Thor means to pat the small of Loki's back in praise, but he rather ends up fondling his bottom where he has his lazy paw hung anyway.

Loki blushes from the embarrassingly lauding attention spared on his efforts and secretly curses himself for joining this weird game of theirs at all; not that such touches held any greater symbolism to them anymore. Yet still. With a frown tearing at his glowing forehead he bites his tongue to keep from groaning. His heart tumbles some weird dance far too close to his throat.

How come he loves and hates this so - he can not even once say no to it?

_How did this happen?_

This is what Loki wonders ever since this deviant habit wormed its twisted way between the brothers, sticking them together like glue. And All Nine, really, how did it? Not due to one of Loki's sneaky tricks, his in each and every realm unmatched pranks (how at least he himself likes to address them) or his sometimes unusual strategies on reaching one of his secret goals. Loki did not enchant Thor into this, nor did the golden prince of Asgard lose an unfair bet against his rascal brother. No. It just happened. Utterly unforeseen. And still the Trickster hasn't managed to bring it under the control of any explanation he'd possibly come up with. He doesn't understand it, especially because it's not just one of those awkward mistakes you stumble into trying once and then some day even forget about. _This_ always happens again. Loki is no one to let anything just happen in his life - nothing but this. And so each time it feeds a distant panic in the back of his mind.

Thor meanwhile remains peacefully calm, eyes closed with lazy pleasure as he suckles his brother's nearly begging flesh that juts out from his undone trouser flap. Loki throws his head into his neck, choking on another whine, as Thor shoves his nose under that green tunic and digs his face into the white belly underneath, swallowing Loki whole. The air blown from the sleepy Thunderer's nostrils that lie pressed to slits right now dampens all spots of skin that it strokes, leaving a wet, hot coating there. Whenever Thor decides to stretch one of his strongest gulps down his throat his shameless mouth smacks utmost slick noises.

This is what they do.

When Thor noticed the craving for the first time, he secretly started to suck his own thumb. Gingerly so, because wasn't that strange at his age? But he found he couldn't leave it be. It worked this deeply appeasing effect on him.

Actually Thor noticed the craving only after he noticed that subliminal terror building under his skin, lingering and growing in his guts whenever he's met with greater crowds expecting something, whatever, he can't quite ever really guess what, from him. Especially so since that day father had so proudly announced that his firstborn's time to finally be king was nigh: All Asgard had exulted from full throats – to then go still, waiting for Thor to speak. Thor had always been used to father doing the speeches. He'd always just won battles for Asgard and smiled his sassy smile at the people. They had been satisfied with it. Well, until then.

He felt his face growing itchy hot that instant he realized he was to say something substantial. He was getting dizzy even though he did not move an inch. His brain deflated probably, or that was why he got that stingy ache behind his eyes all of a sudden. And he could painfully feel mother's patient glances in his back as his frozen grin lasted … and lasted. Sif rolled her eyes at his slow wits. And dear, Loki had actually cut his own record in cocking his brows: they'd completely disappeared under his helmet.

Having always tended to rash actions, Thor eventually swung out Mjolnir to the skies and let out a triumphant cry as his bluest thunderbolt pierced first through the roof of the palace and then the clouds and beyond. And yes, admittedly, he earned himself the usual applause mixed with highly amused laughter. But part of him knew that this could not forever be his answer to people looking up to him. He hadn't ever felt that unable to cope and that stupid before. And never again did he find himself fit to walk by the throne without shivering to his very core.

So the thumb was a sweet, sweet thing to help him relieve some of this unknown stress haunting him. Whenever he found himself uneasy, he sought a moment of privacy and suckled till his pulse slowed down. It calmed him for some time. But soon enough he got obsessional with it, his patience dwindling more and more, and he excused himself repeatedly from friends and feasts and councils to find a dark corner somehow, somewhere, and once he even ended up sucking his thumb under some bushes in the royal parks.

But it came as it had to in the end: Thor got used to it and wouldn't find much comfort in the lonely act anymore. He was forlorn when he realized he longed for someone else's skin: Body contact was what he needed. Like frightened children need it, too.

Not that he somehow thought about it all – he only felt that urge without really knowing nor wanting to know why.

However, there was that phase when he was not able to look his mother in the eyes without flushing in shame of his hidden need. He thought she might see. He hoped he'd possibly be strong enough to get rid of it if only he'd resist long enough. But in vain. And then some day he desperately craved anyone to lay his mouth upon whether he didn't want to jump right at his mothers tits: An impossible thing for a grown up man.

He turned to Sif. But he didn't dare to tell her. She hadn't ever been the understanding type if it came to weaknesses. Maybe it would have been the easiest way out into finally sating his desire if he just got himself a nice whore asking no questions. But Thor couldn't. Not that he hadn't ever had one, this just was a different story; this was not for fun, he needed some degree of empathy and nearness.

And so he turned to Loki.

His brother had always been situated somewhat outside of the universe which Thor craved to escape. A constantly roaming flibbertigibbet but at the same time _the_ unchanging pole in Thor's life. Loki was isolated, secretive and private. And for his obviously unmanly attitudes possibly the only one to ever understand.

Not that Thor thought too much about any of it – he just, well. He was a big, desperate ball of instincts.

They were out alone that summer evening. The sun had nearly set above the lonely backyard they had strolled out to. Everything glowed with the final, orange fire of the day; the wall they leaned against, the broad, slow river flowing west before their eyes, the ugly moorhens that were such nice targets to throw pebbles at as they tumbled back and forth on the water. No greater feast was grinding the kingdom jolly and the taverns lay far off and left to slur their lazy songs without the golden prince for once. Yes, Thor and Loki were out, throwing pebbles at moorhens in peaceful, cozy brotherhood. Nothing that uncommon for the two of them, even if they'd done this far more often in their childhood.

However, this time they were … alone in a somewhat different manner, as Loki was soon to discover.

„What are you doing?“ he chuckled when Thor suddenly grabbed for his hand. “Hindering me won't make your strike rate better! Aim, you fool!”

But as he found himself caught in his brother's grip he gulped, and his knuckles twitched in the pressure squeezing them around the nother stone he had not been able to throw. Loki's face froze into a questioning stare. He had not stolen anything late off nor fingered whatsoever wicked hex or crime – there was no obvious need, really, to crush his tools of mischief. When he'd deserve it he'd get kicked in the ass by his brother for it, sure. But cracking his twigs because he had more aim in his pinkie than Thor in his two arms?

Thor for his part did not let go; He scowled down to his fist and breathed like something heavy tugged at his lungs. Each heartbeat keeping Loki's fingers in his nervously forcing palm made them feel warmer and damper, fitting the orange blaze thrown at them from all sides. Thor sucked his tongue. His knees felt weak.

“Might I ask you something, brother?”

“Uhm … what is it?”

Thor huffed. And stuttered right away: „I have always longed to be king, Loki. But now – I mean, look, it's so soon! I don't know how to”, _I don't even know what I don't know how to._ He opened his passionate grip, kneaded Loki's thumb and pulled it up - a pebble fell to the dusty ground. “And I need, I – I'm tense all the time and … ?”

Thor was afraid. The mighty Thor stood horrified beside his younger, weaker, paler brother, and he trembled. There were thrones and crowds and failures grabbing at his mind again, and, to top it all, now the impossible thought of being denied understanding and his only cure!

When the words failed him, actions took over his body as they always do. He launched himself on what he craved. And suddenly found Loki's thumb tightly sucked into his mouth.

Loki was startled enough to grant Thor a moment to glory in the awkward touch. But the tongue moving along his skin had him hysterical soon enough. He tore himself free and let out a sound as he staggered away. Thor flinched at the brusque turn.

When their eyes met it could not ever have felt weirder – this was so ridiculous Loki should have laughed! But somehow he didn't feel much like laughing.

“Are you kidding me?” His voice cracked.

Then Thor, angrily grinding his teeth, abruptly whirled on his heels and stomped away without a further word. Loki could only stare into his back until he was out of his sight. The evening was quiet in that way that nearly screams. Only the moorhens dared to cackle at the princes who had teased them long enough.

Thor came back for it, though. The very next day. With a suspicious look in his eyes. He cleared his throat all too obviously as he shut the wooden double door portals of Loki's private chambers.

Loki was sure by now that he'd been victimized by a prank gone wrong, made up by who knew which of Thor's glorious friends – Fandral probably – believing the throne heir's ever so dodgy trickster brother had finally needed a revenge. Thor'd lost a bet for sure (because bets excluding muscles have never been his strength) and found himself bound to play along or something the like. And he didn't seem to avow himself bested yet. The jerk.

They talked, both hesitant and testing. Or rather they actually pussyfooted around. Loki sat in his armchair, pretending to read and never looking up from his book as he had so far successfully refused to bless the oafhead with his welcomes.

He was the one to get impatient first, though, as Thor just couldn't get to the point of things. And so, pissy as he was, Loki put his book aside and ended this childish game of verbal to and fro with a challenge _so_ absurd that it made perfectly clear how little he intended to get spoofed. And he already felt spoofed enough. He really did.

„Do as you wish, brother, but not with my thumb.“

Impudently he spread his legs and tried to hide a smirk when red hot anger flushed Thor's face at the subtext dawning on him. Loki cupped the armrests with his palms to make clear his fingers were out of this game. That had him only intensify the very much amusing effect on his bulky brother: Nine and Hel, what treasures had Fandral promised him or what would he have lost in this wager? The Thunderer blushed in dangerous shades of crimson now, displeased at its best as he seemed to urgently need Loki voluntarily letting himself be suckled like an udder. Thor bristled. But as long as no threatening lightning bolts raped the skies Loki licked his lips and grinned.

_Not on my charge, dear._

Alas, he was not to triumph for too long.

It was downright surreal when the golden prince, Loki's ever shining brother good-enough-and-better, shadowcaster by high birth, mortifyer by mere presence, well, that very brute born to rule _the world of worlds_ , damn it, knelt down between Loki's thighs: When Thor reached for the belt in front of him with an all too serious scowl on his face Loki was unable to see clear. All just blurred out. The last thing his eyes really caught was his buckle being seized by bulky, impatient fingers before he glimpsed away, brain swimming. When he felt a pull around his hips as Thor overpowered the leather strap holding his trousers in place Loki couldn't do more but puff out an awkward, tiny whoop. And then, well … then.

Well.

They didn't talk about it once the deed was done. Which was done embarrassingly soon with a muffled groan from Loki's mouth and a gulping sound sliding down the depths of Thor's; Thor stood up, cleared his throat (and at this Loki could have retched had he not arched his neck back so hard to haggardly blink up at the ceiling), and with this clearing his throat from _Loki's leftovers in it_ he left Loki alone, glowing dizzy with shame.

What had just occurred between them was so plainly wrong it didn't even feel like anything had happened at all. But of course it happened again. Loki didn't stop it because, really, it was NOT happening, was it? He couldn't fight what he could not, not in a thousand years, grasp as real.

Once it was at least a modicum of real, however, it already was habit.

When they were new to it, Thor was content with less than he felt he needed. He didn't take it all at first and not as long as he might have liked to, but he ventured to have little bits of more each time. He was just shy, and Loki concerned. But feeling skin against his tongue ... even if just a peak of it, reminded him so fondly of the long lost times when little Thor, whenever he was scared, would run right to his mother dear to be embraced and comforted by her warm bosom's milk.

Thor thinks he was able to run already. He doesn't remember. He _would_ run to his rescue nowadays, was it not fiercely forbidden by law and shame. So he rather crawls to Loki.

Loki has no milk, of course, but what he has is warm. This is enough for Thor to drink it. It's more than any thumb would grant.

Loki comes with a yelp today, eyes glistening, brows climbing up above them like reaching out for heaven. Where's the ceiling, where the floor? For a shattered heartbeat long he doesn't know.

The melting tension leaves his skin in prickles like a thin, electrified shell completely emptied of its core. He feels he could break at each further touch and gasps his breath only with troubles back to normal. Slowly his body becomes flesh and bone again though, warm, quivering, and slacks into the gracious slumber of the afterglow. But he doesn't fall asleep.

He knows that Thor's not had enough yet.

Sinking his soft, flushed cheek deeper into his pillows, Loki lets his weary eyes wander down to where his brother's golden hair blocks the sight to what he can still dimly hear and, now quite painfully, feel: The heat, too much. Loki whines. The … undertow, if one could call it that way, pulling even his last drops out of him that it feels like a hair fine thread drawn through his flesh. That _mouth_ , he feels that mouth, claiming him whole.

His chest heaving still, Loki eventually shuts his eyes and starts to stroke his brother's scalp. Somehow Thor feels so needy under his fingertips. So indescribably vulnerable with that thick, shatterproof, stubborn head. It's just not - Loki doesn't dare to listen to his strangely numb thoughts tangled around what _things_ he just allows his brother once again. But that one question won't be still. It never is.

_How did this happen?_


	2. Disadvantage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the fun begins - the following chapters have never been seen like this before AND THEY ARE UNRECOGNIZABLY BETTER. Next update always due on Monday.

[ ](https://ibb.co/j8YNWd)

 

 

 

Loki does enjoy it. That's not the point. Physically he couldn't be luckier really, especially considered how very awkward mother nature designed him in the eye of the beautiful reproduction duty that is called sex. Yes, he does relish in every stress relieving opportunity that throws itself on him now, every blissful high that makes him walk smoother to the library afterwards (not with a screwed up ass like usually) - even if it gets a lot sometimes and he forgets if his head is right on his shoulders or if it should be rather rolling before his boots like a ball he'd gently kick along the way or something as he goes on silly-happy humming his mind free. Preach, Loki Odinson is sexually active like he's never been before, the fact that he won't ever reproduce in his brother's mouth be put aside for now, please. He _likes_ it, thank you very much, this whatever it even is what they do.

It's not his fault either. He's taking what he's offered, but he doubts he's having all too much of a say in it anyway. Thor grabs him by the collar and throws him into it like into some shady alcove of the palace or the abyss of a dark green Rhododendron underworld or just the depths of his own cushions he has plushing up his favourite armchair, that one he reads in a lot (and the same one in which it happened the first time, and the next, and most of the following). You see, Thor doesn't really leave him any choice.

Yet still - there is that guilty shame. And it would be quite alarming if there actually wasn't. Because _what_ is even happening? What has come to possess his brother, has he gone completely mad or - ? _No, don't think about it._ Loki thinks a lot, but he doesn't think about _that_. Instead, and it's just a vain attempt to calm the ethical turmoil eating him up inside, he keeps telling himself: This was the last time.

It never is.

Thor wants it nearly _all the freaking time_. Loki watches him now, at breakfast, at anything they attend in public, and he cannot help but notice how his big brother gets disturbingly nervous when the wait between their, call it, _private meetings_ grows too long. He can visibly not wait for it: His arms would flex in that state, his muscles bulge, he'd tap his foot under the table. Thor is the lazy type when he's not swinging his hammer, the slouching type, a casual grin plastered on his strong-jawed face and his lids all too heavy with contentment. But once he is in that new, hunted mood his eyes are darting. And they find Loki's, they always do.

A weird mixture of gleeful amusement and disturbing sympathy has become Loki's permanent emotional state of heart. And guilt of course, because this is too wrong, _too_ wrong, and then he's under the whole impact of the next time again and he's catching on his breath in whatever dusty corner of Asgard, earth or grass or sand or twigs or cobwebs in his hair, water sometimes, _water_ , and he enjoys every ounce of it, no matter the unspeakable place they ended up in again: Just the other day he had to bite his fist to stifle one particularly embarrassing noise wanting to explode in a full blown squeal from his mouth while mother's riding horse was staring him dead in the eyes, munching some straw.

Not that Loki's been a virgin before, that's not why he's so … obliged. Just, his tumbles were never many and never so orally overwhelming as are these completely outweirding escapades Thor and him are having now. Sure, Loki's had a girl from the kitchens, a chambermaid, some others (and he likes to tell himself they were more than they really were), but he had disguised his face with them because he's always so awfully skittish about it. Rightfully so, apparently, as the ladies weren't ever all too happy with shoemaker's son Ikolas' performance: _Too quick_ , they'd moan. _Too sissy. Be a man and grab me already,_ they'd tell him, _you have hands like a little girl, and anyway, are you always so damn shy?_ That never really made him all too eager to pursue his next encounter, disguise or not. Plus, aside from all that he never even kissed and that's a fact. So much for his satisfying experiences.

It's not Loki's fault he lets Thor happen to him, really. Let him have his fun just sometimes, yes?

Speaking of fun however, what Thor doesn't like at all is Loki moving just a wrong inch when he's on him. No bucking in his face, none of that. Which is a concept of totally unfair torture to be honest, because really, Loki's trying hard to comply but he did work himself into a few cramps that way. And letting go and just completely wallowing in it, that's not quite possible under that restriction. It's still letting off just enough steam to be awesome, but it could be better still and it just _gnaws_ at Loki, knowing it could be and it won't. Thor made clear enough it wouldn't ever, that one time he got really angry when Loki blindly grabbed his hair and happily thrust ahead. Thor literally bit him, and hard. Loki lost a yell at this so shaken and loud it must have echoed through the whole realm. Sure enough somewhere on the highest palace roof Huginn and Muninn shot up into the sky, croaking angrily because they'd been flustered out of their nap. Fandral cracked jokes on Loki passionately just when he caught him in the open later. What in All Nine he did would he demand to know, would everyone be _panting_ for to find out.

„I got hurt in a kind of accident“, Loki just said, awkwardly trying to sit without rubbing his trousers too badly in his poor, mauled crotch. And when he didn't want to show the wound that had him squeal like a stabbed swine (those brainless warriors really can't think of a thing more exciting than boasting scars and bruises) they assumed it in a pretty explicit place and roared with laughter. Thor laughed, too. The bastard!

Loki didn't want his dunderhead of a brother to ever suck him again. He actually spent a whole day sulking and crossing his arms in the deeper sections of the library, looking up nasty magical potions to pour in Thor's mead that would have him, well, _something_ , grow a tit on his forehead or the like, just so that once and for all the collective of the kingdom would laugh at _him_ for a change, choking on how ridiculous he's always been!

Of course Loki didn't find a potion vicious enough to satisfy his hunger for revenge, and of course his poor cock didn't bruise all too bad after all. _And_ of course Loki found he can't ever possibly be upset enough to actually reject his brother. That moment he got grabbed by the shoulder again with that now all too familiar, urgent fist, indeed, there jumped some flutter of excitement in his pants again. Shame on him.

But it does get too much sometimes. That is, if it lasts too long. Loki's balls would feel like completely drained and his cock like it's pink with burn already, and he'd have come too many times, he's dizzy then and hot and cold and just a bit sick of his stomach. Just, Thor won't stop. And he doesn't even _wank_ to it. Loki is a good bit forlorn at this point. Thor doesn't even – he just sucks and that is it, like his life depended on it, and normally it would get him all sleepy and relaxed after a while, but then sometimes that same process takes him hours. He's completely tense, and he sucks too hard. Loki grits his teeth against the sting. Thor won't notice probably; Loki's not looking down to check. He's never looking down.

So there, that's the moments he lies melted in cold sweat and gets a little scared. What if Thor is ill or something? What if he's cursed stupid by someone? Loki should tell their parents, shouldn't he? But he already can't. It's happened just too often now. He'd end up in the dungeons for ever having let it happen in the first place – if they won't accuse him of having done the deed himself, having damaged his brother on purpose! Who'd ever believe him that Thor came for him and not the other way around? And what if Thor is not ill, if he isn't cursed? They're brothers, godforsaken Nine! He must be aware they could very well get themselves executed with that twisted kind of secret they don't even manage to properly _talk_ about!

_What if Thor's gone completely and utterly mad?_

Loki doesn't ever want to think about it.

However, in public and freshly nursed Thor doesn't seem too mad at all. He's Thor doing his Thor stuff, dull as a bread and silly smiling, just as usual. And so goes the cycle and Loki postpones his worrying just a bit longer and there he's already panting in his armchair again.

If nothing else, nothing _reasonable_ else like just ending this farce once and for all (who's kidding who here?), Loki vowed to push himself to learn some self control. Because that would surely be at least half a solution to his problems. Bearing his brother's agonizingly demanding tongue without losing his mind would have him less desperate for it in the beginning and less whiny in the end. If only he could last an hour or two and still be able to enjoy himself, that would be best. And it would also teach ol' Ikolas a fancy trick.

Alas, this whole self control is a lesson Loki has yet to master.

So. Panting in his armchair: That's where he is again.

Thor's in his lap, shamelessly smacking away. Loki sits rigid, he's on edge by the sounds alone, his chest heaving and falling slowly with frantically controlled breaths. His knuckles are white from how hard his hands are clawing into the armrests.

Thor doesn't kneel on the floor this time. He's got himself a taboret. Imagine. A silly little three-legged thing with a plain round wooden bulk for a seat you'd put your feet on rather or on which you'd milk a cow - but for Thor it serves the purpose obviously. When Loki found his brother planting that insult of proper furniture in his rooms just like he'd have the effing right to put anything in Loki's rooms at all - ! - he fiercely protested, goes without saying. First of all, the thing is ugly, and secondly, Loki can't stand _anything_ not personally picked intruding his personal spaces, which are jealously guarded by him. Anyway, Thor didn't mean to move in with him now, did he? Loki had quite a panic in his guts.

There was no arguing, however, as Thor just grunted at him impatiently and hustled him in his place already. He for his glorious part sat down on his ugly little taboret, pushed Loki's knees apart and budged close enough to have the best access he'd ever had in any position before.

In the middle of it, Loki realized to his absolute horror that he'd hooked one knee over an armrest to even spread his legs more. He wept a bit when he came. It was intense. The cow was milked thoroughly and he wanted to throw his brother and his scandalous seat out of the window. He tells himself he certainly would have had not that orgasm temporarily fluidized his bones.

Well, ever since there it sits beside Loki's reading chair, the taboret. When it's not put to its blasphemous use it's like forbidden to even glance at the thing. No way would Loki touch it now, not even to get rid of it. It just _sits_ there, oozing sinful purpose like a knowing sneer ...

Gently bent over, Thor has put the whole weight of his forehead into the fitting hollow where Loki's crotch melts into thigh, and his mouth is full and happy. He's forcing his favourite lolly into quite an awkward angle, but Loki only feels his cock pulsating all the more against those gums and teeth for it, hopelessly trying to spring free where it would swell towards his belly button in a really fierce curve by now. Thor's spittle pearls down to his root, tickling his curls, tickling his balls. It soaks every crack of him, or is he sweating? In his pants Loki's butt crack is wet.

It's much too intense again and Loki whimpers. His leg is kicking out on its own as he reigns in a thrust building up in his hips; Thor grunts disapprovingly, his teeth grating the flesh of Loki's cock ever so slightly.

_Focus. Shit._

Loki's head, already leaning back to face the ceiling, slumps even further into his nape. He opens his damp eyelids and is blinded: Midday is bright and Thor is slurping and Loki's feet are like standing on fire. There's a blackbird singsonging away nearby, and the sound of a busy bumblebee passes the window. Loki could beautifully watch, he really could, and he would almost expect a set of flowery spring décor around his brother sucking him off. Just that Loki _never_ ever looks down. Never.

The thought alone of seeing the act, making it real, it's enough to scare him. But worse still would be the disgusting sight of Thor not even palming himself through his trousers or just – just, why does he even _do_ this?

It's like he could always stop with a shrug. Loki can't.

Since they were kids, and in everything really, Loki has been at a crucial disadvantage. Thor's making the rules, Thor's setting the game, Thor's quitting when he's bored of it, leaving Loki sulking or bawling his eyes out. It's always the same old shit.

 _Older siblings are the pest_ , he decides with a groan caught behind his gritted teeth.

This is no different, just that Thor never insisted on taking parts of Loki's body in his mouth before. There he's chilling on his taboret from Hel and he makes the rules, he sets the game, he stops once he's had enough and _only_ then, no matter if Loki wants more, if he's had too much already, if he just, well, wants to have a SAY in it!

And Thor swallows around him; he's slurped up too much water in his mouth again so he swallows and seems to suck Loki even irresistibly deeper, and it's all so _tight_ -

Loki almost yowls. Almost.

But this time he'll come silently. He made up his mind. No embarrassing noise, no squeal, no whimper, no _yowl,_ fuck's sake, nothing shall make its way out of his throat! He's light-headed as an oracle on quite good stuff and he could rejoice with pleasure right now, but he'll act all unaffected and above it. Yes. Just once in a lifetime he wants to be the one who doesn't need the other's shit. He's close enough, he's only got to manage for so long, and Thor doesn't seem like he'd stay for too many encores this time. He's chilling his ass off, the fucktard.

Buzzing with determination, Loki gulps his every further telltale breath unless it carries sound, but they are many and he shouldn't stop gulping altogether he finds. That's how he ends up not breathing at all. It's hot and thick around the whole of him suddenly, the atmosphere, and his body must be shaking a bit. As his head gets all too heavy now from how light it was mere seconds ago, he closes his eyes and doesn't notice how dizzy he really gets. That sensation of fire licking up inside his stomach makes him dim with sweat all over. He pulses angrily in his brothers mouth, the angle does get taxing and it's like more than a squeezing, searing grip around him now, it's like really _lips_ and _tongue,_ and everything is too defined. Insane. It's tickling like to torture. Loki thinks he might be bursting – so he gulps. He knows he'll be done soon, he'll be done, quiet and dignified.

Alas, there Thor's eyetooth, that one which always looks a bit sharper than the others (it's on the lopsided side of his smile, upper row), well this outrageous tooth brushes hard across that vein Loki always knew as one of his softest spots. A flash of white hot need jerks through his loins and up his spine. It's blossoming, it's teasing open all that his body tries to keep in place, and Loki's balls are clenching and he feels himself leaking a little puddle of precum against the hollow of the roof of Thor's mouth. Loki cannot keep his chest from rearing with it, up, up, up. Abruptly he feels his lungs so tightly knotted in a tangle that he's _got_ to pant for air; they downright billow in his chest.

That good and painful gasp setting his vocals loose ruins every torturing second of reservation he managed to pull through so far.

Defeat hits him hard. He doesn't think for a moment, he's just completely frustrated: As he glares down into the peaceful face of his brother, he wants to slap it. Thor doesn't even seem to notice how Loki struggles under his touch -

Now he did look, though, did he. And the picture lying in his lap is beautifully illuminated, just without floral décor. Each detail of Thor stands out sharply traced by the pen of reality. Loki hears a tingling in his ears. His gaze wanders, disturbed but too allured to jolt away, and his ears glow hot while his hands grow cold. He's roaming across the blond fans of short lashes closing his brother's eyes, catching the sun like golden powder fell on them, and Loki's trailing down Thor's strong, proud nose in it's sturdy but curved line, down to his lips. Puffy. Flushed. Wet.

In the corner of Thor's mouth the coat of clear, hot fluid glistens like would ice, ironically. It's all on Loki's own skin, his own throbbing veins, his own hunger-thick cock disappearing in his brother's suckling, gently sliding pair of lips, up and down, _gently_ , like pulling on a teat, begging milk out of it ...

Suddenly Loki feels the heavy urge to vomit where he sits.

The tip of Thor's tongue slips out from under his lower lip, swiping along Loki's shaft - which is straining now with touches. And that sight scares Loki's pulse up to race in his temples. It's too much. And the sounds are suddenly too much.

Loki wildly lets his head fall back again, his neck too weak to support it anyway. He gives up trying to be still and moans in fierce resignation, every further breath a liberated sound.

This letting go is finally enough: Thor gets what he wants, swallows in a long, slow gulp, and Loki can't pretend he's not completely down with it.

It's as it always is with Thor; who'd ever be stronger than him?

 _Big brothers suck_ , Loki thinks - and nearly bursts into guffaws.


	3. A persistent and generous maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm early with this chapter because I'll be busy until Thursday.
> 
> It's two to go now! I'f you're being good and say pretty please I'll consider putting both up at once next week.
> 
> Have fun ~

[ ](https://ibb.co/j8YNWd)

 

 

 

Is there a better thing than a good feisty swineworm dragon raid in the rocky slopes of Sweynvorrmheim? Thor thinks there's not. Not for a full fledged warrior in his best time of life, just like he is one. Also, once the opportunity of travelling revealed itself to him he grasped it in a fury and was gone across the Bifrost before he could think twice: Travelling means not being home. And not being home means no throne around to bugger him, even if only for a little while. So for once instead of hiding and trembling and (uhm) sucking his brother off in the confines of the palace he went out and did it the manly way again, slayed some malevolent monstrosity in a bloody encounter rocked by victorious thunderclaps and slit through by unforgiving flashes.

One of those flashes undid the beast's head from its neck in the end, and the roar it was bellowing in the moment of demise seemed to have even lasted after, until the final gust of breath left the severed stump. It was amazing.

On his way to the local tavern now (where many very ugly but tender hearted people in simple clothes are bowing in gratitude to the Golden Godling Prince and his companions, the Warriors Three and the famous Lady Sif) Thor is completely goofy and glowing with the confidence of a battle won, the heavy head of the beast dangling limply over his shoulder like a good trophy should.

This monster got his mind clear, was a worthy opponent, the wicked thing. On the battlefield Thor is in his element, and he soars in it. He can't do anything wrong once his body memory knows what to do without his doubtful mind disrupting his actions. Oh it's been too long. He had to _feel_ like this again. Too many councils he'd sweated through at father's side, his mouth sealed shut with dread and his head whirling and shrinking from the loaded pressure of information his brain plainly refused to digest. Now there was the swineworm raid though, and now it's like home in Asgard have been only shadows grasping for him all the time. The rush of his adrenaline made them fade. It's all so far away, court and father, the crown, the throne … indeed, Thor needed this trip.

It even made him feel much more comfortable around Sif again - whom he started to treat differently to his own shame. That's since he started to _see_ her differently. Not merely as his trusted girl-mate in sword and sheet but as a possible and very unsettling future queen.

Today they were like parts of a wolf pack again: They were friends once more, together with the Warriors Three. Today was good. And Thor wouldn't have spent another thought on Loki really, not with the jolly people celebrating them so wonderfully, the served mead and meat tasty like only the poor can produce …

They've just got their lazy backsides off the bulky benches they were seated on all through the feast, and even Hogun seems to be a bit asway in his steps. Sif has grown uncharacteristically giggly while she's poking into the nostrils of the swineworm dragon's head (which Thor will not be parted with), and Thor's complete body is all in all a wonderful booze. Volstagg loudly groans a contest with each complaining stair his heavy feet climb up to the chambers they were given for the night. And Fandral opens the gates of Hel that is his fabled rotten mouth.

“Oh well”, he sighs out wistfully with a last glance over his shoulder, dismissing some short, fat lady youths of the folk of Sweynvorrmheim that are snoring away their drunk bliss at a distant table, “that I'll be here to my cold hand tonigh' while Silvertongue is home with the beauties and wetting his schlong! Gets more fun than I do nowadays, it is frustrating! I bet he magicked his cock to do some magic tricks or why'd he be such a rabbit late off, eh?”

The bearded warrior licks his lips and waggles his eyebrows too much, so much it is distracting Thor enough to take a whole of five seconds to realize what he just said.

“Fandral”, hisses Hogun with a scolding look. They probably talked about _not_ talking about this with Thor of all people, but the foremost scandalmonger of the realms seems to be just too pissed to care. Like this he'd very likely tell _Loki_ about how Loki's whoring his bits off, and he'd be proud to be the first to tell him too.

„ … WHAT?!“ Eventually getting down to it, Thor cannot think of any other reaction, nearly drops the monstrous trophy he carries and stops still in his tracks like hit by one of his own thunderbolts. Sif grunts behind him as she smacked into his back and must have given the swineworm a kiss for good. Volstagg stops his climbing as well; the moaning of suffering wood abruptly leaves a thick silence in it's wake, and altogether - something envelopes the group of them like palpable tension now.

Unaware or maybe even amused by Thor's great dismay, Fandral crowds in on him and slaps his shoulder happily.

“Loki fucks the rugs, Thor! Fornicates like a new bloomed flower! This is hot Asshard gossip, don't you e'er listen up, my friend? Everybody talks about it!”

Thor's throat is clamping suddenly, and he feels sweat in his palms, sweat conducting the electricity sizzling under his skin. It's yet to decide if he's building up a full blown rage for someone talking filth about one of his blood – or if it's going to be a panic attack because the filth is partly true and it's got quite a bit to do with Thor himself.

Not that he feels much _involved_ in it. He's actually pretty good at forgetting that he very much is. They're brothers helping each other out is all. What they do is no _fun_ like Fandral would put it, it's something entirely else, or so Thor keeps telling himself.

Now he's told that Loki sleeps around, though, and yet he knows first hand that his brother does no such thing – because first, he's not the type, he just, he _couldn't_ , even if he tried, then he's too young (maybe younger in Thor's mind than he actually is), and _then_ , which is the breaking point here, Loki spends way too much time and energy _getting blown by Thor_ to even find himself a single casual fuck. And if this isn't utter illogical shit going down.

He says it again: “ _What?!_ ”

“Sorry to burst your bubble but your baby brother's all grown up.”

Volstagg lets out a compassionate sigh, mocking him sympathy, and Thor is forever inconsolable on so many levels he can't count them: Helpless to fight it he whines with the picture penetrating his inner eye, the picture of Loki grinding his way through the palace, up and down and right and left, an awkward boy turned lecherous beast overnight. It's so ridiculous - and yet so vivid.

This is a scandal. Defamation! How did this rumour even start?

Unless ...

Suddenly Thor's getting sick of his stomach like kicked in the guts. They haven't been seen together, have they? He always knew they're playing at risk, but he always _craved_ too much to be more than essentially careful.

He should have been more careful.

Fuck, he could heave.

Meanwhile, Sif only wrinkles her nose in disgust; all of a sudden she's back to all the fierce dignity of hers. As if the thought alone of Thor's gawky inconvenience of a relative being sexually active sobered the shit out of her, and _shit_ does her stern look sober the shit out of Thor. Now there she is again, like he can't stand her since his fears of the future began to grow rampant. She's tall, she's proud, she's intimidating. Part of something too big for Thor to handle. He swallows hard and looks away.

And what if Loki and him have been seen together?

_What if she knows?_

„Oh, come on, 's quite funny“, Fandral blatantly continues (to Thor's very horror), „there were these _noises_ , from his chambers. And he's spotted wildsy-hairs now, _youknow_ , all the time, or with his clothes a mess, or emerging from the pretty bushes in the gardens,”, there the gossip-man stops himself to chuckle for the joyful ambiguity of the word _bushes_ and Thor just _can't_ , “and then he stumbled out of a shed the other day with his boots missing, and - don't act like you didn't notice, Thor, he's _your_ brother in the end! This has gone on for moon after moon!”

Thor can but stammer: “Well, he's, he – is, he's, well – _what?_ ”

Rolling his eyes, his bearded companion accepts that and goes on with a shrug: “I think it's odd, though. Could have sworn he doesn't even know how to do it.“

„ _Enough_ now“, threatens Sif. But Fandral just grins and sidesteps her elbow. He's only getting reckless and gives Thor's cheek a pinch: „Guess what, just yesterday I caught the imp in the act, saw it all myself!“

 _Yesterday_.

At this the world starts spinning. Thor doesn't dare to even blink. His mouth is dry. Yesterday is too close, too real. Sure, Thor's been in the pretty bushes with Loki, and he's been in the shed. But that might have been weeks or even months ago. Just, _yesterday_.

_I've been with Loki yesterday._

„You know that one tower? The roof I use to climb up? With a fine spyglass one has a _sight_ there, down into some very exquisite households. And their indwellers, of course. I was out to see some – don't shoot me that look, Hogs, you know I do such things - well, I _was_ there for the ladies … but on my glance across the palace I found I had a perfect view of your family wing, Thor”, (as if he never noticed that until then), “and Loki was sitting in a chair near that window ...“

_Urda's Rotting Teeth, his armchair._

An instinct of flight makes Thor step forward, but his foot gets caught on the next stair; he falters. Only so he manages to keep himself from falling over. Volstagg turns to him with a sympathetic smile and pats his other shoulder, the one not already invaded by Fandral. Thor really doesn't feel any of it. He is like numb right now.

„ ... so there he sat and he was _obviously_ busy. All open mouthed, rolling his eyes ...“

„FANDRAL!“ This time she strikes him.

"OUCH! Oh well! Well, at first I thought he – leave it, Sif! - at first I thought I was unwilling witness of a royal solo. But his hands were far from his – ah, you know what I mean. There was someone with him and don't get me wrong now if I tell you that I badly cricked my neck trying to get a better view – ow, OW, Sif!“

All Nine, this doesn't happen. Thor can't but palm his mouth and give a horrified groan that echoes like the sound of doom under his hand.

_There was someone with him – I WAS WITH HIM, YESTERDAY, IN HIS ROOMS, AND I SAT HIM IN HIS ARMCHAIR, AND -_

Fighting off Sif's unending treatment, Fandral puffs up his chest for the final act. The farce goes on.

„Okay, now all I could see was the top of a blond head, but that's _something_ between his legs, moving and moving, you know what I mean”, and that gesture really wasn't necessary. “I'd have congratulated him, but I couldn't shout that far.“

This being the story's climax apparently, the Warriors Three boom their manliest laughs just in case Thor'd need another hint that no one means to slander all too bad about his brother really and it's all just jokes and fun. Well, Thor doesn't think any of this funny at all, but he joins in on their guffaws, louder than he should. Maybe just so he doesn't have to cry in his relief that is tainted way too much by shame and guilt.

He's moving like a puppet on strings as they eventually start climbing the stairs again. Another awkward silence befalls them. Which has to be broken, of course.

Fandral clears his throat, ready to boast his own generous behaviour now: “I turned away, you know, gave them some privacy - “

“After you cricked your neck and couldn't get a better view.”

“Yes. Just, much much later then - some of my ladies do take their time combing their hair - I made ready to get back down and threw another glance his way - by accident, Sif, yes you can keep that to yourself. But guess, there his eager Miss Mysterious was _still_ completely latched on him, and poor Lokes was so swamped by the service - you should have seen his face!“

Their guffaws grow harder and even louder this time. Thor sounds hysterical and he knows it. Sif contributes a disgusted groan.

„I just wonder who she is“, rounds Fandral off, making it sound like a poet's musing. „Such a persistent and generous maiden!”

Grateful as he might be for not having been revealed, Thor finds it really difficult to not have his guts twist around themselves at being called that flowery name of an insatiable succubus slut.

“Maybe it's always her?”, suggests Hogun with his smarmy ideas of romantics and monogamy. However, the Dashing already gasps and slaps his own forehead as the idea of the century enters his inspired dirty mind.

“You think he tried a spell on her?! If _that's_ how he messed it up I need to know that spell, Norns help me.”

Another round of laughter swells, and really, no, Thor is more whining it by now.

Loki's spells are mostly tricks, and if they're more ambitious than that they tend to be awful. That is no secret throughout the whole kingdom, and the younger prince suffers a dramatic deal for it, only making it worse with how hard he takes his failures. Thor needs a moment to cringe for his brother before he can even catch up on how this last idea does imply that he would _force_ someone to get intimate with him – which is among all the other insults thus far the most horrendous tonight.

Thor cannot tolerate his blood's honour disgraced like this any longer, but disturbed by the whole setting as he finds himself he merely manages to add some lame: “Loki wouldn't win a woman's heart as shameful as with trickery.”

That snort coming from Sif says more than words.

“Well, obviously not”, comments Volstagg with a little snicker, “but he did get her attention for sure.”

Fandral nods his head approvingly for his silly concept being supported. “And now the poor boy could die of fatigue, all with that wild girl at his heels! Not that I wouldn't be willing to share this burden with him. We should investigate. I want to know her name!”

That's when Thor finally really stumbles and face-plants it gloriously. His friends burst with cheers above his head and clap him applause before pulling him back up. He'd rather stay on the ground forever please, or at least for now to wake up by morn and find that this whole conversation never happened to him.

 


	4. Swamped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments everyone! I sure will answer them later today when I get a moment of time. Until then have some heart wrenching Thor-feels for dinner ~

[ ](https://ibb.co/j8YNWd)

 

 

 

It is no wonder that Thor didn't make it idly through the night. And his friends gave him the perfect excuse to leave early, too. They shook their heads at him, in vain trying to tell him that tomorrow would be soon enough to give his brother whoremonger an earful for slutting about. Just, they knew he wouldn't be stopped, of course not. Thor was so thankful for the misunderstanding, as much as it grieved him on Loki's behalf.

He just couldn't _stand_ it anymore, being here, just as he couldn't stand the thought of going home, but he made up his mind: He had either a few last hours of Sweynvorrmheim's peace but with Sif at his side, and imagine her trying something funny on him, there was no way Thor would make out with her tonight ... or he had Asgard's ominous embrace waiting for him, as it did all the same, just with Loki's dear and secret comforts.

Thor knew what he needed. He had a panic suddenly. So he bolted, grabbed Mjolnir and went outside to call Heimdall take him home already.

There will be no words wasted on how Thor might have spotted a judging frown on the all-seeing guardian as he passed. This is plain simply not good to think about lest the Thunder Prince wants to curl up in a corner and cry for his ultimate shame for the rest of his eternal life.

His flight takes him racing over the Bifrost's blinding river of sparks in the darkness of the night. A minute and he'll be landing full force in the palace, hopefully not smashing any walls or such as he can't have fuss for where he means to sneak.

_No witnesses tonight._

Thor swallows unhappily as Fandral's voice loops on and on and on in his memory, and it gives him a dizzy trauma to the head, a kind of shock that feeds on his doubts and fears. Thor frowns only deeper into the wind and wills his hammer to fly harder already, to take him away from what is eating at his mind. But he can't escape, no speed would tear him out of this. He grits his teeth to feel the cold against them. It stings to the roots and gives him some more common sense again.

Yet still, this is a mess. He feels like waking from a dream into a nightmare.

Now that his friend smelled blood he'll be on the hunt for Loki's _Miss Mysterious._ And without mercy at that, without cease. The man wants a secret unveiled and he won't stop until he ripped the cloak from it and has it bare and naked for his greedy prying eyes to see. Thor knows his friends all well and good. He knew Fandral when their voices were those of boys and their little balls were bald as newborn rabbits. Fandral was always deathly curious. Especially with girls involved. This is a threat. An unmistakable danger.

But he is not the only threat. Woe, everybody is, all of Asgard's population, every lady, lord, guard or warrior walking by, every group of children playing games in the gardens, every stable boy, chambermaid and cook and – _everyone_. It's a truth alarming and has never been this harshly real to Thor. There's that whole kingdom full of people pushing in on him and Loki and their secret – all these people Thor is destined to rule one day, one _way_ too soon day, all these people frightening him into his brother's lap to begin with. Everyone around every corner could always walk in on them, _could have_ , all these weeks now, Blessed Nine how did no one ever walk in on them before? They were in public places! How could Thor be so stupid? How could Loki so carelessly let him be?

No one would understand. Just like Fandral proved today, and just like Thor should have been much more aware of all along: From the outside what they do looks perverted. It looks sick. It looks so - wrong. And if it _was_ how it looks then it would be just that. Just … that it isn't, somehow. There is that difference to it which Thor may not be able to pinpoint, yet which he feels with every fibre of his heart.

If anybody ever knew, they wouldn't understand.

Fiercely afraid in his flight, Thor doesn't know when his thumb found its way into his mouth. But there it is and he can't help but suckle like the sun would never rise again. It's not enough.

This weakness in him, it is an innocent need which urges him to his brother. He never saw it in any other light and will always refuse to. Sure, he could have turned to Loki's thumb again after that first time, that time when he accepted the silly challenge to demonstrate how he was being serious about it. But he grew fond of it the way it is. And he can't drink from a thumb, can he?

It's no sex though, Thor is sure of it. It's just what they do. And Loki? Loki is devotional. He's selfless. He understands it, the only one who does. He sacrifices all his pride for Thor.

“ _You should have seen his face!”_

And the laughter echoes back into Thor's mind like a spray of boiling rain.

Grabbing violently onto a pillar supporting the many stacked balustrades of Asgard's balconies, Thor whirls Mjolnir's force to a stop and lets himself in to the public corridors of the palace. He lands on skilful feet, beholding a stance like awaiting a foe. The night is deep and lonely in every shadow ahead of him. Thor scowls in all directions, every abandoned nook a potential hiding place for – he doesn't know what for, _whom_ for.

So far has it come that he should feel in a hostile house in that home which has borne him! It is sad indeed. Thor stands swayed by a sadness that is so strange to him, he feels without any help in it's wake.

So he runs.

Then on tiptoes he creeps through their family wing towards Loki's chambers, and his heart is throbbing in his every fingertip. At the main entrance he found the guards sleeping tightly as peace of too long has them often be. Tonight Thor couldn't find himself angry at the men dismissing their duty like that. He just went on between their snoring forms, careful not to tread on abandoned bread or fruit or gaming dice.

The way seems impossibly long to him. He did roam the palace at night before, many times, and still he feels it is inverted for him now: Gold is silver, light is dark; of course it is. But the silence is a fragile gift, no longer isolation.

When he was little and sneaked out of bed because he couldn't rest his eyes Thor always found he was annoyed that no one would be awake with him, and always he'd make a rumpus just so everyone joined him already. But now? He wouldn't want to make this night a day. He cannot have people take note of him now. Thor feels like he fell into a mirror of himself and he doesn't want back out.

When he finally reaches the well known portal to his brother's abode he finds it unlocked and takes a good omen in it, like he's meant to be here, like he's welcome. He should want to teach Loki a lesson for being so thoughtless, he should tell him to lock his damn doors next time, that the guards are always sleeping and _anyway_ , does he want to get himself killed or what? With his scanty combat skills and his petty magic tricks? Thor should jump Loki in his sleep and act like a bandit to give him a scare. But instead of all that, no, only his heart fills up with warmth - it could overbrim. He's _welcome_ here.

He opens so very slowly; no sound, no witnesses tonight.

When he slips into the room at last, he feels the tension in him washing away. Closing the portal behind him, Thor sighs and sinks against it with a thud. Immediately the walls surrounding him are a refuge shutting out the rest of the world. There's the good polished wood under his touch, in his back, and the carvings give him the slightest mark through his clothes. He knows what the pattern would look like on him. His own doors are the same. Just, standing here against these is _better_.

Nine forbid, being at Loki's is better than locking up in his own personal quarters. Because here is even more private, somehow. Maybe because there are no abandoned nightgowns and stockings lying around, those Sif might have forgotten at Thor's. Maybe because it smells of one and one person alone, not all the many visitors Thor's bound to house all the time.

It smells of Loki and Loki's everyday life. Just him, only him, and only him Thor wants to confide in again. The scent of Loki's resting furniture is there, ebony and birch wood exclusively. Books and metals and herbs and furs. And all the odd materials in their even odder containers of glass Loki loves to toy around with – alchemy he calls it, father says it's dangerous nonsense, nor good for this or for that – but what is even more important is that it smells completely and utterly of _Loki_ in here.

The last months of them tumbling about must have re-embossed all Thor's senses on his brother as the absolute safety that he craves.

Not that he'd be aware. He only feels the moment cooing him.

Thor's eyes got long used to the darkness by now, and there is moonlight to ease his sight. He doesn't have trouble finding Loki bundled up in his sheets; sleeping in his daybed again, only the Nine know why. Just so that any intruder could have hold of him even easier with the doors unlocked and the guards asleep. _Thoughtless kiddo._ It's rather cold in the room, too. Loki didn't leave a bowl of embers on.

When Thor wants to step forward he hesitates, suddenly realizing where the moon's distant gleam seeps in from at all. It's the window with Loki's armchair in front of, the curtains unclosed – _damn thoughtless kiddo!_ \- and this shocking him is probably silly because the whole realm is sleeping, and who else but Fandral would climb up that tower with a spy glass in actuality? But Thor stands rooted to the spot now, tension knotting anew in his guts as he takes in shadows and lights on the floor like a map of safe and deathly lands.

Loki stirs in his bed. He sits up, clumsy his movements, and the sheets fall from his shoulders. Half of his face is white aglow. He looks like a ghost. And knowing him for an occasional sleepwalker, Thor's not sure if he's awake or not.

„Brother?“ Loki's voice is little in the stillness.

“Yes?”

“You kno... the swime-mormmm-dragen lacks a colour. Can't see pink, so. You should wear pink.”

Taking this dream-chewed babble in for a second, Thor finds himself grinning ear to ear.

“Are you worried for me?”

“You wearin' pink … ?”

Aw, this is cute. Thor just goes with it. “I sure do.”

“Good.” Loki nods, satisfied.

“What would I do without your help, eh?”

“Die with … many pains.”

Thor chuckles. Loki yawns and lolls his head. He'll flop back into bed every moment for sure. Thor can't have that, though, not now they're getting along so well.

“Hey.”

Starting, Loki rewinds their conversation. “Brother?”

“Yes. Hey.”

Loki looks Thor straight in the eyes now and he's so clearly not awake, but there he's waiting for whatever Thor could possibly want of him.

_Devotional._

Suddenly Thor's mouth prickles with warm anticipation.

Eager now, he looks for his taboret. Once spotted he grabs it and hurries to place it in a corner of the room hidden from the window. He sits down in a consuming shadow and leans flat against the wall. Feeling his heavy garments on him suddenly, sweat through and soaked with crusting blood, he unclasps the brooches holding his cloak and shrugs it off. His leather weskit follows, and his hauberk. His tunic. Until he's skin to air with just his pants and boots left on him. Goose bumps prickle from Thor's skin in the chill, but he can breathe even better like this.

„Come here“, he says.

Loki obeys, too sleepy to argue or act as if he'd never do what anybody told him. Dear, dear, he's actually good as gold if he's not self-aware. He climbs out of his bed and stalks towards where Thor's voice just came from. In the middle of the room he gets lost and stops, searching.

“Come here”, Thor encourages again. And on goes the padding of soft feet on the floor. Loki steps into the shade of Thor's hiding place. Thor watches as his body dissolves into the dark; first his legs are gone, then his rumpled nightshirt folds away and pulls with it the sharp outline of a shoulder, then his neck, his face. For a moment this disappearing is disturbing to watch. Thor swallows with a sinking feeling in his guts, yet then again Loki is _close_ now with the heat his body brought with it from under the sheets. The hairs on Thor's arms stand on end as he sucks a deep breath of it in. He'd pull the two of them even closer with it if only he could.

Alas, it's really dark. Loki is blind in here as is Thor. He's probably standing uncertainly reaching out ahead of him so he won't bump into something that might block his way.

“Come here”, Thor breathes once more. His own hands reaching, he makes contact with Loki's fingertips. It's funny how they drum on him, softly, like some doddering feelers of a weird animal testing foreign surroundings. Thor casually spreads his legs and grabs Loki's wrists to steady him. Then he pulls him in until he's safely stood between Thor's thighs. Loki puts his palms on top of Thor's shoulders and leans forward to rest his cheek against the wall. He seems content enough as he lets out a sigh.

It occurs only natural to Thor when he wants that, too, that sigh of contentment. So, cozy as he is under the shield of a gentle body, he slings his arms around his brother's waist and digs his forehead into that rumpled nightshirt. He cuddles full face with Loki's belly and he _sighs_ , deeply and happily, and right there the world is a better place.

His nose rubs a button loose. More skin on his skin. His lashes catch on the little cave of Loki's navel. Thor feels his brother twitching only so: The hands on his shoulders knead him now. Loki sucks in a fragile gasp. That sound is sending Thor's pulse toppling out of tact.

Muffling a groan in the fabric, he grabs under the nightshirt's hem already and knots his fists in the waistband of Loki's pants. He wants to pull them down - but he hesitates.

He never hesitates.

Stricken, Thor stops breathing for a moment. He feels like he just, _shouldn't_. What he's about to do. Like he shouldn't do it.

But in the end the decision's already made. He rolls the taste on his tongue that Loki's scent left on it. Scowls in his uncertainty. Wriggles his head under the shirt, hiding himself even deeper than darkness can. And it's like another world in there. So much more _skin_. So much warmth. It's a little better here, like a secret in a secret. Thor's chin touches the tickling hair of Loki's happy trail that's snaking down under the waistband of his pants ...

He pulls.

Leaning in, it is his lips now which are doddering, feeling ahead as shy as if they never felt the flesh he craves to meet. Thor's lips are trembling tonight. And it's so still and it's so dark, and somehow part of him thinks he will never find what he's looking for, that the night just goes right through Loki's middle like through a ghost, deeper and on and on, and it will swallow Thor forever, punish him for what he really, really shouldn't do -

But there. There he is.

Loki's curls are coarse but giving. Thor knows the touch of them as if they were his pillow all his life. His heart is fluttering as he buries his nose in their comfort. How stupid of him, to fear that what he got to know so thoroughly by now could abandon him somehow, could just not be _there_ for him. He smiles as his mouth is kissing the front of Loki's peaceful, flaccid cock, and already he gets brazen again and grabs the root of it to angle the length up to his face.

Above him, Loki purrs.

It is a relief, the moment his mouth is full; Thor suckles away with a heartfelt, thankful moan curling somewhere in the back of his throat, the vibration of the sound dancing down his tongue to the head of Loki's cock. This plug of flesh is stuffing Thor so reassuringly, and the taste is so _salt_ and so _real_ , and the skin is soft, and the feel is the perfect chewy but firm, and it's even swelling still ...

Loki chokes a little on a whine, his breath more forceful than before, and his body tenses around the hips. Only, Thor has but senses for Loki where he swallows him, the weight of him heavy and soothing on the tongue ...

_So good._

There's someone there for him, you see, someone in flesh and blood, and Thor feels latching onto them like a baby. It's all about the closeness of it. The body heat. The surety of not being alone. Thor sucks Loki even deeper, his fist playfully pumping at the base. And in this careless moment he knows from the core of his soul: This is not perverted. This is bliss.

Alas, Loki's voice is in his half-slumber like adrift somehow, and he will not restrain the pleasure dripping from his lips; he hums and croons and then lets out a bow of a yelp, stretched and raw and loud, downright a musical scale. In the hush of the night it's like a cup of crystal smashed to the wall, clear and shattering. The timbre of it finally strikes Thor and he stills with a fright shooting down his spine. His face is flushing hot and cold.

That was unexpected. That was _loud_. What if someone heard that?

His terror has him suck even tighter - having Loki moan even more. Thor's eyes are open wide now, hunting non-existent enemies who might just have found them out, but much as before he is blind in the shadows, and under Loki's nightshirt especially. Loki mewls, full of impatience and careless to anything else. His hips stuttering, he catches Thor by surprise and bucks. His cock hits the back of Thor's throat and kicks right into a hard urge to gag. Tears burn Thor's eyes from it, and if not for the darkness he'd be blinded now.

Loki's curls are damper, that's the first thing Thor notes bewilderedly as they're thrust into his nose, and hot from sweat are they. Their scent grew muskier, too, so thick the aroma you could lick it off. It's stuffing up Thor's nostrils like the cock stuffing his throat, and for a terrible moment Thor can't _breathe_. Against his dizzy forehead he can feel his brother's stomach flexing, _pushing_ , like the flanks of a horse reigned against it's instinct to gallop for too long. In the nape of his neck there's the hem of the nightshirt pulling – as Loki pulls back, pops out - and just in time, just as Thor's free to gasp wildly for air, he grips hard around the hips in front of him to prevent another brutal shove into his face.

But now he's breathing too loud. What if someone _hears_ him, Cursed Hel? And – did he even lock the room?!

Hysterical, light-headed and scared, Thor sucks his lips back over the head of Loki's cock to at least silence himself. His nostrils flare, trying to serve him oxygen without as much as muffled snorting. He sits frozen for a heartbeat and presses the flat of his tongue against the bulb of flesh to keep the throbbing thing at bay but have it plugging back his voice -

It's all too much, all of a sudden. Fandral's drawling speech returns cannoning into the windings of Thor's mind while his ears are straining to hear if the heavy doors would open after all to let someone in who'd bring a torch, who'd light the room, who'd see Thor crouched under Loki's clothes and - and Loki's not playing along _._ He's doing something high pitched that sounds much like sobbing now; frustrated, desperate and _loud_ sobbing. Thor can't hear a goddamned thing but that - !

He starts to suck again, in earnest this time. Not for himself but to shush his brother silent already, to appease this sudden dire need of his – a need that shouldn't even _be_ , come to think of it, because Thor needs his brother not to _need_ him but to dutifully bear him because _that is what they do_ , Thor comes to Loki to let himself be weak and Loki humbly lets him be - Loki shouldn't need this all so much!

“… _wetting his schlong, he gets more fun than I do nowadays …”_

It's just that Loki is asleep, practically. That must be it, that surely will be it. His body can't be blamed for not being able to differ between _fun_ and what they do. Loki's asleep is all, and if he weren't he wouldn't enjoy himself.

Thor might be desperate, clinging to denial's last shreds, just, he's _got_ to make excuses now. He can't pretend here. He is a man after all - and that guttural grunt he just milked out of his brother, he made this sound himself, often enough.

It's only getting worse. And the worse it gets the harder Thor sucks, and soon his ears are ringing with the wet smacking sounds of his own mouth and Loki's whole-hearted vocal range; Loki _uuuhs_ at one point, squirming and leaking a gush of precum, and the noise that he brings forth is from so deep out of his chest, his voice is dusky and lustful like Thor never heard it from him before.

“… _your baby brother's all grown up ...”_

Horrifyingly, Thor's cock stirs against his breeches, a throbbing like a flame blowing through the thick, demanding size of it. Loki's hands slide from his shoulders, down the naked ripples of his back, his fingers digging down into the mass of muscles, and it's _teasing_ , it's so wanting, daring him, it's an open invitation _._ Thor's balls draw up a bit. Loki lets out a cooing little sigh against the wall, and it's all so - he's so fragile and so wanton all at once ...

Thor spits Loki out on a terrible whim. His pants are _tight,_ his spread thighs shaking. And it's utter madness anyway, but Loki's kneecaps are digging right into Thor's crotch and his cock is getting _harder_.

Thor finds himself panting along with Loki, out of terror, out of shame, he wouldn't be able to name it, while Loki rubs his shaft in shallow brunts along Thor's cheek.

For a moment Thor is so confused.

He needs something to steady him is all. He grinds his bulge into Loki's knees because they're so steady, and Thor's like, Thor's crotch is like, _melting_ , a wobble of melting steel even though he's so _hard_ , he's just – and he wouldn't press his face into that cock was it not so solid against him. Thor needs something to lean against is all.

He mouths at the root. Loki's twitching and thrusting through the sloppy kiss. Thor laps at it. His head starts spinning. His cock is standing out thick enough from under his pants now, he is breaching Loki's knees with the force of it. _It feels so good_ , driving himself in between. He clasps his thighs around them suddenly, firmly, without really thinking about it, and his force has him press Loki's legs together around his cock, _it's too good_. Thor grinds and squeezes, and his mouth tries to suck the side of the speeding shaft now, it's funny to try. His mind is gone soaring somewhere where he cannot mind it. Loki's blissful sighs do nothing to bring it back down. Just, somehow at least that cock jerking across Thor's tongue is mesmerizing him enough to anchor whatever instinct-driven shell is left of him in this mess.

It's like having a fever, he distantly thinks. He might just be getting ill. Because his face is glowing hot and his body is … pulsating, quivering, and – stilling, Thor remembers his hands on his brother's hips. He makes good use of his thumbs. Digs them down into the delicate areas where the hip bones cradle the flesh of the belly. Loki's body gives a shivering wince and stops sharp in its tracks; he puffs his breath.

Thor swipes his tongue all the way up Loki's length until he finds the tender foreskin to play at, silky and crinkled back from the swollen tip. Loki gives a throaty moan and bucks hard against the hold on him, pushing his blunt head back into the cave of Thor's mouth … and this time, really, this time Thor _can't_ pretend.

This is not a boy's thumb to suckle. Not a mother's feeding breast. Such a foul compromise. Thor is not a boy anymore. He's a _man_.

And he stuffs himself with cock.

But ... it's what he's got … is it? And whatever this madness even _is_ , it's so unspeakable that it's bound to stay in the night. Something's different tonight, but … whatever this is, it won't ever live to see the light of day.

Considering this with a thumping, defiant heart, Thor sits very, very still, much stiller than he thought himself patient enough to be, and he scowls as he waits for the moment to just roll him over or something. Because somewhere he must have crossed some line. He cannot make himself go back.

… and does he want to?

Almost sheepishly he squeezes his roaring shaft with Loki's knees again. Groans. Almost with a guilty conscience he smooches away on the crown of Loki's cock. It's so silly. So easy. So wonderful. And if that's to be sacrilege, then get him the rotten bones of Hel's claw, and right from the spot!

Testing, he bucks a rhythm now and slurps a little more and drives his eyetooth through the tiny slit that tastes to good. But no one stops him from relishing in the nectar that he's teasing out of it, nothing but maybe Loki's pleasure-stricken yelp. Not really, though. Not anymore. The sound goes right through all his veins and Thor is _buzzing_. It has him go at it it again.

Again.

_Again._

Loki is tossing at some point, and his palms have met the wall for more support. He's nearly collapsing in on himself with how his hips are trying to buck, but Thor gives him the thumbs to behave himself, and he does behave, he does how he's told, all through the sticky veil of sleep folding around his senses. Loki does as Thor bids him.

Devotional indeed.

Just, he's trembling from holding it, and protesting heartrendingly overhead, and something slickly is audible then, like - is he sucking the wall?

_Fuck._

Thor wants to suck. His balls ache badly and his cock feels like it's kicking in his breeches. But he wants, he wants, what does he WANT? He's so confused, but -

Something in him throws a lever. Thor's heart blows up and, oh he fucks ahead, rolling the moment over.

It's all so far away from him then, or at least the carnal force of it, far enough to tuck him in with cushions of sweet innocence – on a bed of saliva, sweat and spasming flesh.

Humping away, Thor swallows Loki with a greedy gulp. He makes himself gag again with how much he takes at once, but this time it's alright. He doesn't give a bit of it back. Loki arches, throws back his head and downright quakes in his physical frame, and the _sounds_ he makes – helpless, urging – they're dirt. Pure dirt.

Thor nurses peacefully is all, you know. He doesn't even taste it really, that right shot of cum Loki eventually loads down his throat; Thor drinks and tastes but doesn't really taste it for what it is. He's nursing peacefully as much as he's concerned, no matter how his mouth might drain that twitching thing to the last drop he can get – _because you like that, hu? Little slut likes me milking it, hu?_

But no, no no no, shh-shhhhhh ... it's so good, so good for him. Not what it looks like. Thor's nursing is all, just like he likes it.

He has Loki nearly toppling, squeezing his knees so hard. Slurping through a mouthful he groans, grinds his raging cock ferociously and finally jumps on the back of a rough orgasm himself, riding it to submission like a beast of the wild. Thor soaks his pants with force, and though the fabric is too thick and robust to let his cream out through to the surface it squirts in all directions under its confines, running down the calves of his legs -

The beast he fought in Sweynvorrmheim. He sees it's severed head, just a moment long. The cut throat spitting a fountain of blood, festively. He feels the fatal thunderbolt he released from Mjolnir, the white flash spurting forth from his might, ejaculating triumph.

It's all so far away from him, though. That violent kind of bliss which comes with sexual release. Something is ripping through Thor, erotically, brutally – sure - as he all but yelps with the shudder clawing up and down his spine, with that dull explosion in his guts … but the hard that it rattles his body through, the soft he only acknowledges it in his mind.

Thor's only nursing is all. Doing what they do.

Soon he lies deflated in his pants, curled in his own many smeary ropes of semen that never got to lash like they could have. He's pooled himself in a puddle of heat. And like that it's a mellow afterglow he's sinking in. Altogether. His every muscle melts relaxed and he sits wobbly on his taboret, wobbly and happy. Loki's sunk completely against him and the wall, sighing every breath, and that's okay. He's a lovely pillow to Thor's face.

Glowing it out from tip to toe, he suckles a little more on his brother and sways at the bottom of the solace that he found at last ...

Until he starts to feel the chill he noticed earlier ghosting through the room again. Loki should have left a bowl of embers on, that thoughtless kiddo really.

His little brother.

_Loki._

It's then that Thor sobs.

Trails of tears, streams of them pour down his face because _nothing_ is far away all of a sudden, nothing is nice and hazy anymore, and they're mingling at his chin, tears with streaks of _Loki's come_ that pours from Thor's own mouth. Loki's shrinking manhood tastes so lost now, so misplaced. Thor lets it out, sobbing, sobbing just more, and there Loki winces and whines as he slips free: He's all too sensitive now, and of course he is. Think of all the times when Thor just wouldn't _think_ of stopping. He'd go and go and …and Loki let him. Always let him.

_What have I done to you?_

Thor is so dearly confused, even more so as the sharp truth of his actions crashes over him: He got off on this. He brought his brother off, ravished him like a thief in the night.

He brings Loki off, _all the godforsaken time._

And now his crotch is a gross, guilty mess and all is throbbing sore after his high; damp and raw and scratching. It's all _there_ , too close, too real, too much of it. He could puke from the stink of his own jizz. It's like a fist in the face. The evidence of a crime.

But it can't be what it seems, this what they do, because that's utter madness. It cannot be.

Thor just doesn't understand anything anymore.

Crestfallen, he clutches Loki and snuggles with his belly again, just like he did before he - he only wants that comfort back, that genuine comfort that he felt, hugging his brother.

Was that really only heartbeats ago? Where is that feeling now? Where did he lose this innocence? When?

Thor cannot find it.

He must have made it up. It's never been there.

In the judging hush of the dark sits Thor Odinson, firstborn to the throne of Asgard and wondrously grown warrior, and he sits weeping like an orphaned child. He's holding on tight to Loki but cannot seem to _have_ him. As if he took too much and lost everything in return.

Thor won't come back for this. What he needed dearly as the air to breathe he distorted into a taboo of his own making. Thor won't come back for it, just like he won't ever ask father's advice or mother's help; because they'd pity him. The king in line must not be pitied.

Loki must pity him, though. Thor should never have come for him.

_No._

Alone now with a crown and a throne and a thousand, thousand people he will never learn to rule, no one will ever comfort Thor again.

In the desolate sound of crying, Loki unsuspectingly more slumps than leans against the wall … and snores gently, his dreams a mystery to the inconsolable picture of wake which hides embodied and trembling with tears under his nightshirt as if to be veiled, too, _please_ , just in some pleasant dreams and nothing more.


	5. The loner shuns the friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nice: You have this now, but just because it's short and not so happy.
> 
> This is a temporary end - there's much, much more to this story and I have the upcoming 30 (!) or so chapters written already. I just need to rework them because they're awful. Especially the early ones. However, RL is having much of me and I cannot tell you exactly when more will be up. I plan on finishing the next handful before putting them out so I can have them frequently coming again.
> 
> Until that's happening, understand this five-piece tale as a bittersweet stand-alone.
> 
> If you're interested in getting further updates, subscribe to my AO3 account or follow my **[TUMBLR](https://selfdestructian.tumblr.com)**.  
>  I'll make sure to let it be known that I've updated, and I hope to do so very soon.
> 
>  
> 
> Now enjoy this little kittle heartbreak-ending and fare thee well!

[ ](https://ibb.co/j8YNWd)

 

 

 

The day after Thor went on his raid, Loki wakes to the deepest, weirdest arousal he has ever grown between his thighs overnight. It's starkly different to his usual mornings, pulsating like the hefty touch of an unbid, brazen foreigner inside his body. It's a knot there, at the base of his manhood, spreading its hot fingers up into his innermost and drawing at his balls. He knows the feeling, but ... he doesn't know it quite like _that_. Today, Loki doesn't even dare to touch himself.

Something's amiss here. And he's having these shards of dreams that cut him awake with a shock even though he cannot make something coherent of them. Panting, he spends an embarrassing amount of time just crouching with spread legs under his sheets, feeling his blood pumping in every tip of him, spiking, licking, drumming ... like poison? Did someone poison him? Quite unlikely if he just tried to think about it, but then this lust he feels, it is _too much_. Someone could have definitely poisoned him.

Sweat is catching a breeze on his temples as he starts with a fright and scans his room as if whatsoever assassin would ambush him from anywhere any moment. Something is amiss indeed. Even his surroundings, so homely, so quiet and light in the rising sun, they're not the same today. Something is completely, undeniably, disturbingly different and he doesn't know what that could be, not for the life of him.

With a gulp and an awkward feeling of shame he last experienced when puberty hit him first, Loki gives the outline of his brutally full erection a sceptical glance. It only bounces in respond and tents the blanket more - which is slick at the inside. That doesn't comfort him at all.

Once he composed himself, he takes an ice cold bath in his private balneary until his knees are shaking. Such a fuss for a laughable circumstance as that of a boner. Alas, he cannot seem to help it.

The day is a maze of spontaneous festivities and that annoys Loki quite much; right after breakfast (which he skilfully missed to not have to converse with anyone in that mood he's in) a messenger from a political outpost arrives: That outpost of the asgardian embassy which Odin tried to successfully integrate into an untoward district of Svartalfheim for decades now. Concerning this taut matter exactly, the messenger brings home good news of contracts finally signed and peace accomplished, and even though Loki has always liked to read of Svartalfheim's magical history especially, the prospect of being able to travel said actual realm more easily in the future will not persuade him to join his father's very likely histrionic speech to the people.

Loki does hear the cheering of course, but he closes his windows against the ministration on his already vexed state of mind; an unfortunate action he's forced to take to escape the noise, unfortunate for he'd only just _opened_ the windows, and is a bit of fresh air too much to ask for nowadays?

At least he couldn't make out anything unusual about his chambers. He checked twice and twice again if there were any intruders hiding behind his curtains or in his wardrobe, behind each door, under the bed. Nothing of course. And he only looked because he was bored, just so you know.

What he does find now is a china cup, empty but with a distinct magenta tinge to its inside, and from this he remembers he drank a rather mind-expanding potion only yesterday so he could read more content in half the time he'd usually take. He had some serious reading to do, you see, and very suddenly. It was on swineworm dragon physics and the beast's possible weaknesses, because sure enough his chronically underprepared idiot brother hadn't even spared half of a thought on what exactly he was up to hammer on again when he went for the challenge, headlong as he always is ... unsettled by the idea alone, Loki swallows. The many bestiary books he could gather from the kingdom are sitting stacked on the ground beside his reading chair. He thinks of vivid descriptions of man-long fangs and acid dripping horns and fire-breathing snouts. But the Warriors Three went, too. And Lady Sif did also. Loki swallows again, picking the china cup up and considering it well.

_Thor will be alright._

Scowling, he puts it back down with a huff.

This magenta potion would make one fuzzy to the point of passing out exhausted if one overdid it. And it almost did just so with Loki as he found himself unable to undertake an actual journey for Thor to tell him of a certain pink-blindness he had found out about. Fortunately so, probably. He would have made such a fool of himself.

However, Loki had consumed this exact brewage before and it would never have him dreadfully horny afterwards, so he concludes he also didn't poison himself in the end. Which he pondered he might have, seriously, just a moment there, even if only to try and push aside the upsetting knowledge of once again having neither been of help nor need in his big brother's many adventures.

It's unbelievable how this ridiculous hard-on still spooks him, though, just Loki cannot seem to help himself and shivers just a bit.

Cheering has not yet ended when Thor and his idiots return, flinging a big, stinky trophy at the very foot of the throne, and of course the mead is poured without further ado. Hearing of this, Loki finds himself lured out at last towards the gathering throng of people storming the palace (in fact he runs to not be the last), and once he's involved he's somewhat caught in the middle as in hopelessly squished.

He doesn't get a word with Thor. It's a dissapointment. He doesn't trust he would be searching word, though, and he blames it not on the unfamiliar burst of jitters blowing up inside of him at his brother's mere sight but on how the dunderhead remained completely unharmed by that beast he slaughtered - Loki shouldn't have ever worried to begin with and that's _annoying_. It's a disappointment, frankly. Or so he tries to make himself believe; serves Thor right so, the invincible buffoon, to not be graced by Loki's greetings!

Just, Loki doesn't even catch a _glance_  from him. Not even when he worms himself through the steadily growing masses up to right next to buffoon's bulk of a body. And this being right purposefully _ignored_ is unsettling Loki in a way that mimics his ridiculous fear in the morning again, annoying him so much more.

Thor rather jokes and laughs with Sif. And while so, he turns his back on Loki like on a meaningless shadow on the wall. He smells of fresh testosterone and winning sunlight and everything else that Loki wouldn't ever emit so healthily, that much Loki takes in from the squall of crimson cloak stuffed in his face all of a sudden.

Brutally piqued, he backs off and sits in a distance, too far to be seeming much interested in his stupid brother's new boring triumph – which, seriously, is nothing _special_ but daily routine by now – yet he places himself still close enough to be noticed. In plain sight. Propped up with decoration. This particular pillar in the back of him should be really making him pop out. It's got vines of roses climbing up on it, in fullest bloom, and everybody knows that red is a signal color. It does work for Thor after all.

Thor doesn't seem to notice.

Instead there's Fandral giving Loki the weirdest kind of grin and wink from across the hall, and Loki's clueless as to what to make of _that._ He buries his face in a large, empty goblet he pretends to be drinking mead from. He starts to think he should have some, though. But it would not do him any good, a drink around this early time of the day, and definitely not with that growing suspicion he nurses more and more intently with each wild heartbeat that flutters to his throat: Everybody gives him funny looks when they think he would not see it. Everybody's laughing him down behind their hands. If they're not busy drooling over Thor, that is.

Speaking of, father gives His Blondness that disgustingly proud smile again, there it is, like it's always been exclusive to Thor and Thor alone, and he gives him a hug and he pats him on the back and Loki could _puke_. Not even mother cares to wonder where her younger son might even be right now, Norns forbid come over and ask him why he wouldn't attent breakfast earlier – maybe that is why he's suddenly not feeling so good – though, it's not like Loki woud like that, like, as if he'd _need_ that, his mommy's hand to console him over just another big day of Thor's. And what for anyway? Oaf just killed a _pig_ if you so will. A rather stout one, sure. And a mix-breed half a dragon, but still. Every simple butcher could do that.

Thor doesn't look at him.

Loki feels abandoned. Like no one ever meant him well.

Then trumpets sound and a man cries out in joy from the main gate. A rumble purls through the crowd: And there unfolds the next festivity for today.

To quite everyone's surprise, uncle Dodnyk shows up like leapt from the void, fresh out of his self-chosen millenia-long creative exile in Moechtegernheim (Loki last saw the man when he only started to learn the runic alphabet as a boy), and from under the fringe of his monumental mustachio Dodnyk jovially proclaims his birthday to be celebrated like it was his first and last, and him being the queen's very brother, who'd ever dare refuse him that wish?

The palace is a hopeless mess thenceforth, of clatter and laughter and music and the running feet of hysterical servants who never stood a chance to prepare for all the fuss. They bring benches and tables and plates and plates and more plates of Asgard's delicacies.

Before the hall is even set, it is with his arms stretched out and the furs billowing around his shoulders that Dodnyk lets out another yell of excitement: He throws himself at Thor – Thor! His beloved nephew who's grown up so fast and who's looking so much like his father when he was young, Thor who must be the pride of the realm for sure ( _everyone cheer already - yeah, I knew it, you predictable lot_ ) oh Thor, Thor, Thor who's so _great_ and so _awesome_ and apparently never even had a little brother at all!

Goodness Nine. How is Loki meant to _stand_ this?

He stands it sitting down at the base of the pillar, sulking. In the end, hour after jolly hour unfolds around him and he's nibbling his lips through it all, gaze plastered stubbornly to Thor's face, studying each feature too much, his heart in a recurring hiccup. He'd sneak some food into himself, giving the plates he'd want little magical legs and the urgent wish to come to him, and he'd hide his face under shoemaker's son Ikolas' face every once in a while when his mother turned to look over her shoulder, searching for him after all; she didn't mind him earlier, she doesn't need to start fussing about him now. Loki would also dodge some reluctant conversations people of lesser reputation tried to initiate with him so he could later introduce them to, don't say it, the glorious and ignorant giant ass brat THOR!

But then finally – _there –_ the ass brat's getting nervous ... and Loki's eyes are slits at once, sucking in the view.

_Took you long enough._

He knows the signs of it. He waited for them. His crotch is stirring, his throat is clamping tight. But he ignores it all in favour of just being utterly and completely _annoyed_ \- because, just because he's waiting for his brother to remember him at last, and mind, they haven't seen each other in _one and a half day_ and Loki worried himself near _mad_ that this swineworm would – well, however, Thor should be _thirsting_ after Loki is the point. That doesn't mean Loki also really _wants_ Thor to regrow that kind of interest in him. If that does make sense. Loki just finds Thor should be tossing at his feet already, starved, and yet perhaps refrain himself from having his treat. Like, Loki's not something Thor could always take for granted. That's the point. Not that somehow he's jolting inside today at the sober thought of actually physically being a _treat_ and -

Loki wants to take another freezing bath, it's terrifying.

There the big boy goes, though, getting desperate by the moment, and a desperate Thor is not an abstemious one; he's tapping his foot. Wriggling in his seat. Clearing his throat and washing it down with cup after cup of mead (but it's not what he's thirsty for, no, not that), and all the while he's a bulging mess of sinews and muscles like he _just_  couldn't sit still any longer.

But he doesn't look at Loki.

He should be looking at Loki by now.

“I'll be in my rooms”, Loki declares to no one in particular with a shaky mumble that doesn't even try to be heard over the noisy chatter of the place. All of a sudden he's really not feeling so well. But he stands and makes his standing up quite a noticeable show to be noticed, and he shoots Thor another lingering glance. Unnoticed.

He needs to get out of here.

The way to his chambers is like the plummet of a stunned bird that hit its head in the unexpected glass of a window it meant to pass through. His strides are lonely in the hallways. No one comes to follow him (to join him, catch up with him, grab him by the collar and hurl him around and - ) …

Fingers trembling and a big frown on his face, Loki shuts the doors behind him and thus is back alone in his rooms - to find Thor's taboret gone.

Everything's in its place, exactly where he remembers he left it: The stack of bestiariums, and on the desk with filigreed legs sits the china cup, it's just all there, all where it belongs, and his wardrobe should be empty of foes and his curtains would not hide an assassin if he lifted them again. The same dust particles are dancing in the fading rays of day. Even the blackbird sings it's song, somewhere not far from Loki's windows where it already sang since spring began.

Thor's taboret is gone.

Loki gets a thumping in his ears from the rush of blood calling _INTRUDERS_ through his system. And, worse still, he cannot seem to recall if the ugly footstool was already missing when he woke up.

_Missing._

_Amiss._

It must have been one of the chambermaids is all.

_But when? Why?_

Taking a forceful breath, Loki finds he needs to sit down. The floor would do for now.

A chaimbermaid was is, sure it was. Might've thought they'd do him a favour, removing the thing in the end. The Nine know he complained about it loud enough when Thor first brought it in.

Loki doesn't know why that upsets him so.


End file.
